


do a harry holt

by PumpkinDoodles



Series: Taserbones Tumblr Prompts & Tiny (Adorkable) Fics [49]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor - Fandom
Genre: F/M, These poor babies, Things Do not Go Well, and Nixon trivia recently featured on Rachel Maddow, and the Captain America exhibit from CA: CW, references to Australian political history
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:40:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27056569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinDoodles/pseuds/PumpkinDoodles
Summary: Darcy has a crush on a certain STRIKE commander, so she goes to his best mate for advice.
Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Brock Rumlow
Series: Taserbones Tumblr Prompts & Tiny (Adorkable) Fics [49]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1484168
Comments: 68
Kudos: 316





	1. Mutual Pining

**Author's Note:**

> *I own nothing! Anon requested: _I wish you would write something where Darcy is trying to work up the nerve to ask brock out by getting info about him from jack, but brock thinks shes flirting with jack because they meet up at coffee shops or museums and brock gets jealous_

“So, to _do a Harry Holt_ means to disappear?” Darcy Lewis said, grinning across the café table at Jack Rollins.

“It’s like when the Brits say do a runner, darl,” the Australian said, smiling back. 

“But your prime minister just literally disappeared!” Darcy said. “That’s fascinating. The nation’s leader goes for a swim and _boom,_ gone.” He raised his eyebrows. “I was a political science major,” Darcy said, trying to cover for her randomness. “I love stuff like this.” She’d actually invited Rollins out to ask him if Commander Rumlow was single and was working up her nerve. 

“Sure,” Jack said, jokingly doing his American accent and drawling out the letter u, so he sounded like he was from the Midwest. He knew it made her laugh. “That makes sense,” he said. He enjoyed messing with her.

“Did you know that in 1968 Richard Nixon refused to debate Hubert Humphrey because JFK beat him so badly in their debate?” she added.

“No,” Jack said, shaking his head. Darcy nodded and prattled on.

“Well, okay. Nixon doesn’t want to flunk debating a second time,” she said. She caught herself waving her hands again and Jack gave her a wry look. “Whoops, sorry,” Darcy said. He grinned. She talked when she was nervous and caffeinated. And sometimes, waved her arms. She’d taken out a woman’s scarf tonight; it had been hanging over a nearby chair. But Jack’s accent had made the woman blush. 

“I don’t see any injuries,” Jack told her. “Tell me about Nixon, love.”

“Okay. Nixon hates debates. So, instead, they had separate townhalls on the same night,” Darcy explained. “Humphrey got Paul Newman to show up for his and Nixon hired a bunch of attractive flight attendants to answer the phones and called them the Nixonaires, like a telethon of hot girls.” That made Jack crack up.

“Bloody hell,” he said. 

“Also, everybody smoked then,” Darcy said. She tilted her head. “I just felt like you needed to know that.”

“Too right,” he said. “You bought me coffee because that was essential info.”

“Well,” Darcy said, slowly. “I actually have an ulterior motive.”

“No,” Jack said wryly. “Not you.”

“This is embarrassing,” she confessed. He nodded.

“Go on,” Jack said.

“But I wanted to, uh, ask--is, um, Brock Rumlow single?” she asked. At that, Jack burst out laughing. 

“Oh, thank God,” he said. “I was bloody worried you were going to try and convince to me vote for Nixon or summat.” He’d lit up a little. “You do like old dreck, eh?”

“What?” Darcy said.

“Rumlow’s old, darl,” Rollins said. “He’s Nixon era. The man’s fifty-one.”

“Ohhhhhhh. Really?” she said, genuinely stunned. Her mouth had dropped open and she shut it quickly. “Wait, please don’t tell him I said it like _that._ I just mean he looks way younger! Forty-three, maybe?” she wheedled. “I thought he was just a little bit older than me.”

“Oh, he’ll love that,” Jack said. He grinned. “The man’s dead vain.”

“Ughhhhhh,” Darcy said, covering her eyes. “I’m handling this badly, aren’t I?” She sighed heavily. When she looked back up, Jack was grinning. “It’s just--I really like him. And I don’t even know _why._ I mean, he’s really handsome. But we don’t have much in common. I never go to the gym,” she confessed. “The last Paleo thing I ate was my nephew’s dino chicken nuggets.”

“What are dino chicken nuggets?” Jack asked, looking puzzled.

“Like, um, chicken nuggets in the shape of dinosaurs,” she said. “They’re for kids. It’s kids’ food.” Darcy huffed. “It’ll probably never work, anyway,” she said. She’d been talking herself out of approaching Rumlow for weeks. She would talk herself into saying something to him, then have a minor freakout because he was having a good arms day and wearing those tight SHIELD t-shirts. “I mean, every time I think about asking him out, he’s all vascular and I can’t make words in the break room,” she confided. Jack looked at her, clearly amused.

“You’re a little crooked, aren’t you?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” she said. It sounded like a sigh. “I have no idea what that means, but yes.”

“Lovesick,” Jack said. “More or less.” Darcy watched people entering the café. She shook her head. 

“I’m never this way with anybody else. Much less with super secret agents who know a hundred ways to kill a guy,” she admitted.

“It’s not a hundred,” Jack said.

“C’mon,” she said.

“It’s more like seventy-three,” Jack admitted. “But I’ll get you sorted.”

“So, he is single?” Darcy said, realizing he’d never answered her original question.

“Bloody single,” Jack said. 

“Which means he probably wouldn’t be interested in going to the Smithsonian with someone like me,” Darcy said, recognizing the particular emphasis Jack put on the word _bloody._ She knew he meant flirt. Womanizer, too. That was the other thing that made her hesitate--Brock Rumlow could wreck her, she thought. He had charisma.

“You never know,” Jack said. 

* * *

Brock was doing bicep curls in SHIELD’s gym when Jack strolled up, looking smug. “Mornin’,” Brock said, grunting slightly. He knew what Jack was smug about. One of the techs had seen Jack leaving a coffee shop with Darcy Lewis. Said they looked cozy. Brock could imagine it. He had imagined it, as he ran on the treadmill: _Darcy, smiling, as Jack tucked his arm over her shoulder. Her looking up at him and biting her lip before he leaned down for a kiss..._

“You have a quiet night, eh?” Jack asked.

“Yeah,” Brock said flatly. He tried not to seethe. He was the STRIKE Commander. It was unprofessional--and shitty. But his jealousy had taken him by surprise. It was like an ugly itch in the back of his mind, distracting him. “Quiet night,” he said. He couldn’t figure out why it bothered him so badly, but it did. He’d never been jealous like this before. But he found himself snatching his weights with more force. 

“I had coffee with Darcy Lewis last night,” Jack said, sounding casual.

“So?” Brock said, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. He swallowed reflexively. The thought kept rising, anyway: he’d waited years to be in a position to really date someone like Darcy Lewis. Not even _like_ Darcy Lewis. He’d wanted to date her. Brock had met Foster and Lewis during the post-Convergence cleanup and hadn’t asked out the assistant. She’d had that boyfriend, Braithwaite, the other intern--and he’d had his secret work within HYDRA. Fury had tasked him with infiltrating the organization. It had been too risky for relationships. Back then, they hadn’t been sure about Pierce. They’d found out soon enough. But it had left him with scars. Helen Cho had healed the exterior signs of what he’d been through. It was tougher to get his life in order. Brock sighed. “You have fun with Lewis?” he asked. Her name felt odd on his lips. He’d tried not to say it too much, to give away how he felt. Having her around made him feel regretful. She didn’t seem as friendly as she’d once been. He chalked it up to his reputation.

“She’s a funny sheila,” Jack said. Brock felt that stab of jealousy again.

“What’s that mean?” he asked defensively.

“She likes old clobber, history, odds and ends,” Jack said. He shrugged. “Little bit weird, mate. Talked my ears off about Nixon.”

“You gonna see her again?” Brock asked, feeling a strange wave of relief. Jack didn’t sound like he was interested. Was Darcy interested in Jack, he wondered?

“Dunno,” Jack said. “She wants to go to a bloody museum.”

“Oh.”

“You wanna come along?” Jack offered.

  
  


* * *

“This is the Howling Commandos exhibit,” Darcy said, then cleared her throat. Her voice had gone strained. “Sorry,” she added, glancing at Rumlow. They were walking around together. Jack had disappeared. Darcy was trying to use her words. But when she got nervous, her voice went all squeaky and breathless. 

“Yeah,” Rumlow said. Darcy didn’t understand why he seemed so unhappy. He probably thought she was boring. She repressed a sigh. Why couldn’t she be less of a weirdo around him? She talked to everybody, normally. Even the mean scientists! And the famous people! But Brock Rumlow made her stomach go in knots and her mouth feel all funny. “Where the hell is Rollins?” he muttered. 

“I’m sure he’ll show up,” Darcy said.

“Uh-huh.”

“Did you--did you want to see the Peggy video?” she offered, gesturing towards the little screening room.

“Sure,” Rumlow said. They were walking down the aisle in the dark when Rumlow sighed. 

“Is something wrong?” Darcy asked.

“Jack shouldn’t treat you like this,” he said quietly. “It’s fucking rude.”

“Oh,” Darcy said. “I’m sure he doesn’t mean to be.”

“You’re on a goddamned date,” Rumlow said.

“Not really,” she whispered. Peggy was talking onscreen. Darcy tried to keep her voice steady and quiet. “I don’t think we’ll, um, be seeing each other?” she said, then realized she was echoing the old song they played before the movie. Like a weirdo.

“I’m sorry,” Rumlow said. His voice was a good voice, she thought, all low and raspy. 

“Mmm-hmm,” Darcy said, nodding. She glanced at him; he was looking at her and frowning. She tried to smile. He leaned in. Reflexively, she leaned towards him, too. Their faces were close in the dark. She felt herself grin. He smiled back. _God, he’s so handsome,_ she thought, stupidly drawn in. Darcy leaned in the last fraction of an inch, impulsively pressing her mouth to his. For a second, he was completely still. Then he kissed her back. She felt him cup the back of her head as he sucked at her top lip. Darcy was so stunned, she forgot to breathe through her nose for a minute and then panicked when she ran out of oxygen. She pulled away and sucked in air with a loud, ragged sound.

“You okay?” he said, looking at her in concern.

“Uh--uh--sorry,” Darcy said, standing up quickly. Her flight or fight response was activated. She practically ran out of the theater.

  
  


* * *

“What in bloody hell happened?” Jack said to her on the phone that night.

“I told you---I kissed him and then I forgot to breathe!” Darcy said. “Which okay--I have kissed someone since I was twelve, I swear. Normally, I know how to kiss people. What did he say?” She knew Brock thought she was an idiot. He had to. 

“Nothing,” Jack said. “He’s been iffy lately. No bloody idea what’s going on with him. He just looks like he’s got a few roos loose in the top paddock.”

“Oh.” She paused. “He’s got a what?” she asked.

“He acts confused,” Jack said. “And bloody hostile.”

“Oh,” Darcy repeated. “Okay. But he didn’t tell you that?”

“No. It was my mate in security that showed me the video of you legging it outta there,” Jack said. “Glad you didn’t take that header at the concession stand.”

“Oh,” she repeated.

“But your lippie on his face was a bloody clue that something had happened,” Jack teased. She sighed. Jack started to laugh.

“What?” Darcy said.

“You did a Harry Holt, love,” Jack said. 


	2. Idiots In Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

Brock was tired. He had just finished debrief after a mission and stopped at his desk, even though it was after midnight on a Saturday. He sat down with a sigh. He knew he wouldn’t sleep if he went home. He’d be stuck awake there, he thought glumly. He scrolled through his work emails, yawning, and felt his eyelids grow heavy. The screen was blurring in front of him. He’d closed his eyes for a second when someone spoke. “Brock?” He looked up. Darcy Lewis was standing at the edge of the doorway, looking into their open-plan office.

“Darcy,” he said, swallowing. “Hey. You’re working late.” He felt stupid as soon as he said it. Brock had avoided her since the kiss at the museum. She’d obviously been horrified by his behavior. Something had come over him in that darkened theater. He thought that things had cooled off between her and Jack, but he didn’t want to ask. Now she was looking at him strangely. He probably did look fucking odd, nodding off at his desk on a weekend.

“Jane’s a workaholic,” Darcy told him. “We work this late all the time.” Her mouth went up for a second. “I have a blanket for when I fall asleep at my desk.”

“Yeah?” he said, smiling back. 

“Mmm-hmm,” she said.

“That’s a good idea,” he told her. “I should remember that.” She was making a face, he realized.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you,” Darcy said. Her voice sounded squeaky.  _ Shit,  _ he thought.  _ She knew he’d been avoiding her. _

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m sorry about that. I been busy. Lots of...overseas work.”

“Oh,” she said, nodding. She frowned. “I thought maybe you were upset with me--” 

“No, no,” he said. He felt a stab of guilt. So, he started to babble. “It’s my fault. I’m sorry. It’s just a lot of missions,” he said. “And I, uh, can’t sleep when I get back, even if I’m exhausted.” He rubbed his jaw.

“Yeah?” Darcy said. She seemed to hesitate. “Well...I, um, know some acupressure points for sleep, if you want me to show you?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. He didn’t want her to think he was upset with her. “Please.” Brock heard the crack in his own voice and cringed, but she smiled tentatively, walked around a row of desks, and pulled a chair from the nearest one. She sat in front of him, close enough that if he shifted forward, his knees might brush hers. 

“Okay,” Darcy said, sounding shy. 

“I, uh, appreciate it,” he said. “So?” He looked at her expectantly. 

“Oh.” She bit her lip and he wanted to kiss her again. “I need your hand.” She took his hand carefully—he noticed her hands trembling. “Right here,” she said. She massaged the inside of his wrist. “This is the pressure point,” she said, licking her lips. She circled the point with her thumb.

“Feels nice,” Brock said. “Thank you.” He swallowed. She was so fucking beautiful. 

“There’s one behind your ears, too,” she told him. “That’s probably the best one. Always helps me when I can’t sleep.”

“Show me,” he said. He couldn’t keep the yearning note out of his voice. 

“Okay,” she said, stuttering a fraction. Darcy stood up and moved her chair behind him. She smelled like vanilla, he realized. He listened as she sat down and moved behind him. Her sleeve brushed against his neck. He went still as her fingers found a spot behind his ears. Her touch was careful, almost hesitant. “I...um….” she began. “There’s a ridge behind the ear, right here on the back of the head.”

“Uh huh,” he said. His heart was thudding in his chest. It was just the two of them, alone, in an empty office.

“The acupressure spot is just on the other side of that ridge,” she said, voice whispery. He nodded. “This okay?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” Brock said. She pressed more firmly. Her thumbs stroked circles into his skin. The sensation was pleasant. He heard the chair creak as she leaned forward. Darcy’s breath ghosted over his earlobe and he shifted and breathed in raggedly. He had goosebumps. 

“You okay?” Darcy said, pausing. 

“Keep going,” he said. “Please.” He cleared his throat. “Will you talk to me?” he asked.

“Talk?” Darcy said.

“Yeah,” he said. 

“Okay,” Darcy said. There was a long pause. He could hear the wall clock ticking. “I can’t think of anything to say,” she said, sounding like she wanted to laugh. Her voice had gone up. She raked her fingers through his hair. “What if I just do this instead?” she offered, more quietly.

“Yeah,” he repeated. “Please.” She kept working in silence. Brock breathed in and out slowly. He closed his eyes. Darcy’s fingers were massaging his temples, tugging slightly at his hair. He sighed.

“That okay?” she asked.

“Better than okay, sweetheart,” Brock said, eyes shut. He felt a pooling sensation of drowsiness as Darcy stroked his neck, fingers pushing downwards. She raked her fingertips down over his trapezius muscles and he had to resist the urge to groan when she paused to press her thumbs into the base of his neck. She was going to wreck him, he thought. If he’d been infatuated with her before…She hummed slightly as she pressed into his scalp. He didn’t think she even realized she was doing it. When he opened his eyes again, he realized ten minutes had gone by. He’d gone from jittery and aroused to intensely calm as she returned to the pressure point behind his ears. He was thinking of how  _ kind _ she was being when it hit him. He had been shitty to her, avoided her, and she was showing him tenderness. Her fingers pressed into the nape of his neck and Brock was overwhelmed with a wave of sudden emotion. The first sign was a twinge behind his eyes. Then he realized what was happening. But it was too late. Brock blinked back the tears, horrified. “Fuck,” he murmured.

“Hmm?” she said.

“Nothing,” he said, voice cracking with weepiness. A tear rolled down his face and he felt his shoulders begin to shake with repressed sobs.

“Brock?” Darcy said, leaning around him. “Are you—did I hurt you?”

“No,” he said. “I’m okay. Really.” He tried to turn his face away.

“Okay,” she whispered, voice squeaky again. She wasn’t touching him now.

“Don’t stop,” he said, dragging his wrist over his face.

“Sure,” Darcy said. She sounded freaked out, he thought. She kept rubbing his shoulders, but she was barely touching him now. He tried not to audibly sob.

“I never cry,” Brock said, sucking in a breath. His sniffling was loud in his ears. “I don’t just go around crying on women or some shit.”

“Oh,” she said, sounding doubtful.

“Don’t--you think I’m fucking crazy, don’t you?” he said, voice raw. “First, I try to put my tongue in your mouth at the goddamn Cap exhibit and then I turn into Sobbing Sally. Jesus Christ.”

“There’s nothing wrong with crying,” Darcy said. 

“Yeah,” he said glumly.

“I don’t know why you have to  _ gender _ it, though,” she said. There was an odd note in her voice. He half-turned his head.

“What?” he said. She’d dropped her hands away from him.

“You implied crying makes you a girl,” she said, “which is kinda sexist?”

“I didn’t mean it like that--” he began. 

“Well, how else could you mean it?” Darcy asked, crossing her arms. She looked at him. He blinked. He had no fucking clue how to dig himself out of this one. 

“I, uh---shit, I don’t know,” he confessed. “It’s just something you say?”

“Uh-huh,” she said, standing up. “Sure.”

“You’re going?” he asked.

“Tell Jack I said hi,” she said. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, as she disappeared through the doorway. “Fuck fuck fuck!”

* * *

“Jane,” Darcy announced as she walked into the lab, “we really need to start going home at a normal time, okay?”

“Uh huh,” Jane said. 

“I eat too much vending machine chocolate and I make grown men cry, apparently,” Darcy said. She sat down in her chair with a thump and stared at her laptop screen without seeing it. “And I didn’t even mean to,” Darcy seethed. “Now if he’d said that Sobbing Sally thing before, then I would’ve have wanted him to cry.” She looked at the scientist. “Why do men think crying is girly?” she asked Jane. Jane was typing. There was no response. Darcy sighed. “Are you even listening to me?” she asked, as Jane’s keys clacked.

“Sure,” Jane said. Darcy could tell Jane wasn’t listening.

“I’m getting my freaking blanket,” Darcy said. “I need a nap.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I wanted to write something fun, so here's an unplanned chapter of this, inspired by that tumblr post where men get emotional over nonsexual intimacy and whatnot.


	3. Never Touch Jane's Doohickeys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing! LittleMrsCookie requested a "sidekicks getting coffee during a fight" fic with the 4 of them and it really fit here: https://littlemrscookie.tumblr.com/post/645032489716482048/the-villain-and-the-hero-are-fighting-again

“I don’t care what Fury says, _no one_ moves my equipment,” Jane said, glaring at Brock Rumlow. Darcy looked between the STRIKE commander and her boss. Fury had sent Rumlow and Rollins upstairs to help Darcy move some of Jane’s things to a newer, bigger space. The only problem was, Fury hadn’t cleared it with Jane first. And they’d shown up at seven in the morning. Jane hadn’t had coffee. An un-caffeinated Jane Foster was a dangerous Jane Foster.

“He sent us,” Rumlow said, holding his hands out like she was an angry lion and he was the lion tamer. Jane huffed and fumed. 

“Why don’t I send an email to verify?” Darcy said. 

“Verify?” Rumlow said.

“This pleasant surprise of a new space. Jane?” Darcy asked.

“No. I refuse. You know I asked for forty-eight hours notice on any and all equipment-related matters, post-New Mexico. This is a breach of my employment contract!” she said.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Rumlow said, sighing. He looked at Darcy. “Can you help me a little here?” he pleaded, sounding half-affronted, half-desperate.

“Oh, I dunno, I thought you were a big girl who could handle yourself?” Darcy said. He blinked at her, expression, unreadable. “Sally?” she added. Behind him, Jack’s eyebrows had gone up.

 _“Sally?”_ the Australian mouthed. Jane took the pause in the debate to plop herself in her chair.

“I’m not moving without my forty-eight hours notice,” she declared. “I’m very firm on this.”

“For Christ’s sake, Foster, they want to repaint your lab--” Rumlow began.

“Sure,” Jane said skeptically. Darcy looked at Jack.

“This is going to continue for, oh, at least two days, pending notice,” she said to him, gesturing at Brock and Jane. “Would you like to get coffee?” 

“Yeah,” Jack said.

“You’re just leaving me here?” Brock called.

“Don’t cry about it, Sally!” Darcy shot back. Jack looked between them, then fell in beside Darcy as she walked away, back straight and face pissed.

“You wanna explain that to me, darl?” Jack said. Darcy sighed.

* * *

“He bloody cried?” Jack said, as they sat in the cafe downstairs with their coffees.

“It’s not the crying, crying is fine, it’s the implication that crying is an unmanly thing. Only chicks cry, babe,” she added, in a frat boy voice. 

“He never cries,” Jack said.

“Jack, focus,” Darcy said. “I’m making a feminist argument here.”

“I think you’re missing the larger bloody point, Darce,” Jack said. “He was vulnerable with you. Real vulnerable. He let himself get weepy?”

“Don’t try to twist this around with--with,” Darcy began.

“Logic?” Jack said. “I think you need to talk to him.”

“Ugh,” Darcy said. “I’m supposed to reach out? It’s been two weeks!” She stared at her mocha latte. Turned the cup around in a circular motion with her hands so she could read where the barista had written _Marcie_ instead of Darcy on the sleeve. She sighed. “I completely missed it! All the vulnerability,” she said, scrunching her nose. “Shit.”

Jack chuckled.

  
  


“Hey, you!” Darcy said, rounding the corner into the lab, followed by a grinning Jack. Brock and Jane were still in a standoff. They both turned to look at her. “I need to talk to you,” she said firmly. 

“Okay, fine,” Jane said, sighing.

“Not you, him,” Darcy said.

“Me?” Brock said, touching his chest.

“Yes,” Darcy said, working up her courage to say something. She paused. “I might’ve misinterpreted the crying thing, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have made fun of you.”

“Yeah?” he said.

“Especially if you were trying to be vulnerable," she added.

"Uh, thanks," he said slowly.

"Do you want to go out with me?” Darcy asked.

“What?” Jane said.

“I, uh,” Brock said, looking at her. He frowned and glanced at Jack.

“We aren’t together,” Darcy supplied. 

“Never were,” Jack said. “Just good mates. I was trying to get you together.” Darcy nodded.

“Yeah?” Brock said, face turning from serious to beaming.

“So,” Darcy said. “Dinner? Or pizza and Netflix, whatever--”

“Hold on, hold on,” Brock said, doing the hands thing again. “If we’re--I wanna do it right, okay? None of this Netflix and chill shit. A real first date.” 

“Oh,” Darcy said.

“Let’s talk about it together,” he said more smoothly, putting an arm around her and walking her out of the lab.

  
  


“What just happened?” Jane said to Jack.

“I think they’re going on a bloody date. Unless he mucks it up and she does a runner again,” he told the scientist.

“He---what?” Jane said. 

“She didn’t tell you how she bolted out of the Smithsonian?” Jack said, laughing.

“No--or maybe she did but I missed it,” Jane confessed. “Sometimes, I miss things.”

* * *

“Do you cry during sad movies, too?” Darcy whispered to Brock, tilting the popcorn bag at him. They’d gone to a movie together after work. The lights were still on.

“No,” he said. He ate a little popcorn. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “Like if there’s a sad part with a parent or a kid. Or a dog.”

“Oh, yeah,” Darcy said. “No live action dog movies, that’s my rule.”

“It’s a good rule,” Brock said.

“Especially when they’re named for the dog,” she said. “And that Dolly Parton ad, too.” At his look, she explained. “Sad golden retriever commercial set to “ Will Always Love You,” total weepy. The dog goes from puppy to elderly. I have to mute it or I bawl.” Brock shook his head.

“Those fucking commercials with dogs in the snow and the ratty doghouses,” he said. 

“And the children’s cancer center commercials,” Darcy added. “The sweet little kids!”

“I, uh, donate to them,” Brock said, as the lights went down.

“Yeah?” Darcy said, whispering now. 

“It’s only twenty bucks a month. They sent me a blanket,” he told her.

“That’s very impressive,” she told him. 

“Yeah?” he said, grinning at her shift in tone. 

“You wanna show me the blanket after this?” Darcy asked, grinning wickedly.

-The End-


End file.
